


Reaching Downwards

by Whtevrhpnd2mary



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 21:36:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5681725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whtevrhpnd2mary/pseuds/Whtevrhpnd2mary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone has a breaking point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reaching Downwards

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after 4.14 "The Aenar".
> 
> This story was written in late 2005 for an EntSTCommunity ficathon. Done very "stream of consciousness", and very unlike my typical writing style. Basically a writing experiment during a very difficult time for me, personally. The first story I'm posting on AO3; one of the few I felt I could repost without an overwhelming urge to rewrite it. Other than a couple of spelling corrections, this one appears as it is on the old W5C archive. 
> 
> Comments extremely welcomed! Nice to see some old faces still in the fandom.

He didn't even say goodbye.

I guess I can't complain, though. I didn't either.

I've never been good at it. I suppose it's one reason why I haven't been close to others. At least when they do leave, I don't feel bad about not saying goodbye. Goodbyes hurt, and I don't like to hurt.

Like I am now. Like he is.

He made a mistake, and it's cost him a great deal. He needs time, and space, and I know it's nothing personal. I understand. Truly I do.

I made a mistake too.

I can only pray he doesn't have to pay for his mistake as long as I have mine.

And heaven help him if he does...

________________________________________________________________

Without realizing it, Lieutenant Malcolm Reed found himself outside of the gym in his sweats. He shook his head, internally chastising himself for being so clearly distracted that he had gone to his quarters and changed without noticing he'd done so. But his body knew what his mind wasn't paying attention to; that he wouldn't be sleeping anytime soon, so he may as well let off some of his tension.

Glancing around and seeing no one in the hallway, he entered the deserted room, hitting the lights. At this time of night, he wasn't surprised to see the gym empty. It was just the way he liked it. Privacy while he battered away the growing anger and resentment inside of him. A good way to eliminate those emotions before they became a problem, and without other members of the crew seeing him. Wouldn't want anyone to see how much he was hurting.

He was amazed, for the hundredth time this week he imagined, at how completely empty this ship was without her chief engineer.

No, not chief engineer. She still had one of those. She'd always have one of those.

Her heart. That's what was missing.

Now we have something in common...

His thoughts from a few hours ago returned to him. What a lovely night, he snorted bitterly, he'd spent reminiscing in the mess, then wandering here to the gym. The evening began to replay in his mind as he began hitting the punching bag.

He had sighed, scrubbing his face with his hand and lifting his mug to his lips. The warmth of the tea inside did nothing to permeate the frost around his chest, though. He was thankful for the quiet. Even this late, there was usually someone in the mess, but while they were here in space dock, a lot of the crew was off ship. A few more days and they'd be ready to go again.

Damn engineering staff needed a swift kick in the arse. Home for repairs twice in a month. Brilliant.

It had only been a month since Trip had left. To Malcolm it felt like an eternity. He gazed longingly out into space, eyes unfocused, seeing his past four years with Trip play like some silent film, the soundtrack composed of his own severe recriminations.

From the first day I met Commander Charles Tucker, I should have known. Perhaps I even did know, and merely denied it. Could I have been that foolish? Could I truly have believed, as I looked into those beautiful blue eyes that day, that it wouldn't come to this?

It was like the first time, all over again. An instant attraction. Of course, my defenses kicked in, as I knew they would. History was there to prevent you from repeating your mistakes, after all. And I had made a mistake like this before, years ago, drowning in a pair of sea-colored eyes. I'm afraid of drowning, remember?

I had told myself in that first moment to keep well away from this one. Work with the man, maintain a friendly air, but a professional distance, and it would work out. Surely there would be no problem with that.

I must have wanted it to hurt first.

But as the weeks passed, it became clear to me that a regular reevaluation of this situation would be necessary. Trip, as his friends called him, and as I myself refused to call him, was such a clearly outgoing, social creature. The small size of the ship became apparent to me as I began to realize I had to plan my routine to keep my distance from the man who was becoming ever more a part of the life of the ship around us.

I could feel it, even then, like some kind of tangible essence. This slight warmth creeping in on me, remaining safely beyond the barrier of my emotions, building very slowly out of harm's way. I chose to ignore it; it was natural in the presence of so friendly a personality, and so long as it remained at a distance, the feeling was no threat.

When we were attacked by an unknown and impressive enemy, I had the opportunity to occupy myself with a real assignment. I threw myself headlong into the phase cannon project, happy for the help of the engineering staff, and too distracted to take note that it also meant more time around the chief engineer.

By that time, I was confident I was over that first little spark. It had been a while now, and I certainly was no the worse for wear. With a task to keep us both busy, there would be no danger.

A ghost of a smirk and a dry chuckle escaped him. He had stared down into his mug, swirling the liquid as he recalled the argument they had in the cannon port. That most definitely should have been the first warning alarm. Anyone—well, other than his frustratingly optimistic captain, he'd thought humorously—who could make him lose composure like that, even if it was over weapons, was a clear danger.

Malcolm shook his head, shifting on his feet as he sent a swift jab at the bag in front of him.

_thump_

Those memories distracted me, sent me here. Of course. I wasn't hurting. I needed to hurt.

It doesn't hurt yet.

_thump_

As sharp as it was that day, the feeling hit Malcolm again now. He remembered, as they fought, face to face, that for an instant, he wanted nothing more than for his chief engineer to just shut up and kiss him.

It was a revelation, really. This man was far more than I had given him credit for. I wanted to make him a friend, to open myself up again as I hadn't in years. I wanted to learn to live as I did before.

And that was far too risky.

Luckily the aliens remained enough of a distraction that I didn't have to face this new observance right away. And by the time the whole incident was over, I knew I could work with this man. I had managed to regain myself, and brushed the whole thing off.

He'd known, as he had sat in the mess gripping his cup with white-knuckled ferocity, he had made a mistake to ignore his feelings so completely. You would think someone who spent his childhood going over historical battle strategies would know not to leave an unguarded area open to attack.

Getting up and disposing of his drink before he threw it at the nearest wall in frustration, Malcolm left the deserted mess hall and wandered slowly toward his quarters. He supposed he also knew strategy well enough to take advantage of an opportunity while he had it.

And he had taken advantage when he found himself alone in a shuttlepod with the commander.

_thump_

He thrust his fist to the bag faster and harder. It'll hurt soon.

When the captain ordered me on a mission, with no one but the chief engineer to accompany me for several days, I struggled to contain my feelings. The war between excited delight and anxious concern would have surely been comical if it could have been seen on my face, but I somehow managed to maintain a professional demeanor. As I piloted Shuttlepod One out that day, I knew, if I hadn't killed the other man by the time the mission was over, it could only bode well for our future relationship.

Of course, sharing work mixed with small talk and quiet reading was a far cry from dealing with tragedy and crisis. To say we both could have handled that better would be a fabulous understatement. He was hiding that pain behind anger, and I gave him plenty to be angry about.

And somewhere along the line, I let him in. I dropped my guard, lost my head, and let him see the mess inside the officer shell.

Oh yeah, that must have been when I magically appeared outside the door here, dressed and ready to work out. Damned sentimental thoughts made me lose track of myself. I remember it so well.

That was when we became friends. That was when he became more than Commander Tucker, the ship's chief engineer. It was then that he became Trip.

And at the time, I was happy with that. Very happy, truth be told. It had been so long since I'd had a real friend. We shared time together, got into trouble together, argued our way through problems and came out even closer. It seemed to be the perfect arrangement.

Then I had to do something ridiculous like get impaled on the hull. That was the beginning of the end. I should have seen it then. Maybe I did. Maybe it was just too late for me to turn back by that time. Or perhaps I just didn't want to.

_thump_

His hands stung as the skin on them cracked, the muscles and tendons beneath burning. It was nothing; it didn't hurt nearly enough.

I remember it as if it were only this morning. Those worried eyes, the concern on that expressive face. He came into sickbay many times in that first twenty-four hours, and the one time I was fully awake, and we were completely alone, he gave voice to what I saw on his face every other visit.

He told me he didn't want to see me hurt like that again. That he cared about me more than he'd realized before. That he was glad he had the chance to tell me how much I meant to him.

I didn't know then, and I may never know now, whether the captain told him about what happened out on the hull. I know they've been friends for a long time, like brothers, and it certainly wouldn't have surprised me if they'd shared that little tidbit about me. I scared the captain, and that, in turn, would have scared Trip even more, whether or not he knew the source of that fear.

But if he knew, he didn't say. Instead, he just tried, in his overly sincere yet slightly awkward way, to tell me he cared about me. He couldn't look me in the eyes when he started, and he sounded like he was attempting to sound professional and official and failing miserably. And as he stumbled along, my smile just got wider, until he finally looked up and stopped, staring at me.

And I told him thank you. Nothing more, nothing less, just the most passionate two words I think that had ever come out of my mouth. I meant it more than he could have ever known.

_thumpthumpthump_

Malcolm saw a reddish stain forming on the bag, becoming darker and wider with each hit of his fists on the fabric. He ignored it.

It didn't matter. It didn't hurt enough. Not yet.

His blurring vision didn't slow his strikes, as he merely swiped his tears away between passes at the bag, growling in frustration as his sweat stung in his eyes. He jabbed a bit harder at the stain, focusing on it.

He didn't really need to see it anyway; he wasn't paying attention to the bag in front of him. He was looking somewhere inside.

That's when I knew I loved him. It had been a long time since I'd loved anyone like that. And for some reason I'd forgotten why I hadn't loved anyone in so long. That was my next mistake, for sure.

We spent the next year really becoming close. I found it a heart-warming experience to be with him. Just seeing his smile when he came into a room made all my problems go away. His voice was like music to me, everything and anything he said becoming suddenly interesting, no matter the subject.

Eventually, I just felt happy to be around him, for no more reason than that he was there. A certain contentment and security would come over me. Every obstacle, every argument, and always we'd get past it, our relationship all the better for it. I even became comfortable enough in our friendship that I no longer panicked when things weren't perfect between us. I had passed the paranoia, left the timid man far behind me.

Someone had come along and made the pain go away. The pain I had locked up, had nearly forgotten about. I couldn't have known how much that past hurt was still affecting me; it had become so natural, I scarcely noticed it...until it was gone. I never knew I could feel like that again. I'd so completely buried it, I had forgotten what it felt like.

So, this is what love was. Now I remember. Without paying it any mind, or perhaps just denying it altogether, I made my biggest mistake.

I stopped just loving him. I fell in love with him.

Malcolm punched the bag in front of him so hard it swung back and rebounded into his outstretched fist again. It didn't hurt enough yet. He continued his assault on the bag in front of him, drilling first his left, then right arm directly into the offending apparatus. He repeated over and over in his mind the lessons he'd learned years ago, the ones he'd so readily dropped out an airlock when the situation arose again.

Don't get involved with friends!

_thump_

When you do, you lose them!

_thump_

You lost the best thing you ever had!

_thump_

I could have had it all if I'd just stayed his friend. The benefits of a friendship that would eventually become closer than ties of blood. But that was the problem right there. I was blinded by the love I felt, completely and totally. I doomed myself from the beginning by letting him in.

That was why I refused to have close friends. You can't lose what you don't have.

_thump thump_

And the worst part is that I'd let it all happen again. If he walked in here right now and said he wanted to give it another try, if he didn't say anything at all, I'd take him back, as if nothing had happened. As if all that pain I went through, I'm going through, meant nothing.

Nothing's changed. I'm still just the weak, lonely fool I was so many years ago. Everything I thought I knew was just a bloody lie!

_THUMP_

Malcolm stared straight ahead, barely noting the sharp pain radiating through his fist or the spattering of blood on the bulkhead he had just slammed that fist into. Compared to the loss he felt with every breath, this pain wasn't enough.

Last time he lost something so dear to his heart, Malcolm found something to replace it. An angry young man with a knack for weapons and tactics and a military background? Perfect for a new covert operative military organization.

It was just another way to cover for the weakness. Even when he'd finally found some sense of self again and left that place to pursue Starfleet, even when the experience had reinforced his understanding that having friends only meant having pain, he still hadn't learned.

Clearly. And what, exactly, am I going to do this time to fill the emptiness that's taking my sleep, my appetite? My control?

Pathetic. Fucking pathetic.

Malcolm dropped to his knees, his broken and bloodied hand resting on the floor, his forehead against the cold wall. The events of the past two years flashed before him as he closed his eyes and shook his head.

The pain on Trip's face as they viewed the damage from the Xindi attack for the first time, and again when they saw the trench first hand in Florida.

The sadness in those azure eyes that slowly turned to anger, then contempt, then emptiness. The way the once warm, affectionate man drew further and further away.

The growing closeness between Trip and Commander T'Pol. The relationship. The sex. The visit to mother on Vulcan. The messy break up.

The apologetic look on the captain's face after he told Malcolm that Trip had requested a transfer off of Enterprise.

And the same look on the engineer's face when Malcolm confronted him about it.

'I'm sorry Malcolm. I wasn't really sure how to tell ya'. I just...need some time away.'

Yeah, away. Away from her, from me, from the pain. I know. I understand. I just wish you would have let me help you.

The anger welled up inside of Malcolm again, his left fist clenching until the knuckles were white. Trip had reminded him what life could be like. And then took it away just when he was beginning to enjoy it again.

And at that moment, Malcolm did something he hadn't done since he was a child. Something he never thought he'd do again in his life. With one fist pressed against the bulkhead and the other bleeding on the floor, and on his knees with his tensely strained body shaking to the core, and his head hanging hopelessly in front of him, Malcolm Reed took a deep breath.

And began to cry.

________________________________________________________________

"Malcolm?"

He had no idea how much time had passed there, on the floor of the gym, eyes swollen and wet, face red and burning hot, but if anything could pull him from the misery he was steeped in, it was that voice.

"God Malcolm, what...?"

At a loss for words? That's something new.

"I was a fool," I whisper. Is that raspy sound even my voice? I hear him step closer.

"What're you talkin' about?"

His voice is dripping with quiet concern. His accent always gets thicker when he's emotional. Why he'd be emotional now, I have no idea. But damn him for being that way now, when my heart can't take that sweet sound.

"I was a fool for ever thinking you could love me." I think it was a bit louder that time, but I'm not sure. Doesn't matter, since the gasp I hear means he heard me anyway.

"Jesus Mal, I...How could you think that way?"

He just said the first thing that popped out of his mouth, like he always does. He knows the answer, as I do, and he realizes that was an idiotic question.

He's never called me 'Mal' before. I never thought I'd like a nickname, but coming from him...

"Why are you here?" I really need to get this over with before it gets out of hand. He'll never get to the point on his own.

"Well, Columbia just finished her test runs, and she's doin' great, but we had to stop in for a couple'a crew changes and I...uh..."

It's really quite endearing, how he scrambles for another excuse before he catches himself and realizes that now is the time for seriousness. He's not really trying to stall. He just doesn't know how to say what he actually means.

"I made a mistake."

He stops again, and I hear him shuffle a bit closer. He chuckles self-deprecatingly.

"I made plenty of 'em, to tell you the truth. But they started two years ago, when I pushed away the one person closest to me. And I hope they don't continue today with me walkin' into this room."

I hear him. Every word. That damn war has started up again, head versus heart. I tighten my fist, and feel it shake against the bulkhead. I'm not going to say a word.

"I thought, at the time, that I couldn't be near anyone. That if I was, and somethin' happened to 'em, then I couldn't take it. I didn't think I was strong enough to lose another person I cared about."

He takes a breath. I'm still not facing him, but I can see that head ducking and turning as he works to get everything out.

"Then I guess I must've realized somethin' was missin', 'cause I went lookin' for it in the wrong place. And I thought I found it. Maybe I did it because I knew it couldn't work. Because I knew she couldn't really love me back. Maybe I was just punishing myself, or lyin' to myself. I don't know. I didn't know, and I couldn't stay here, facin' the two of ya', not knowin'."

I know what he's trying to say, however ineffectual it may sound.

"And I was a complete idiot thinkin' I could just try and be friends with you again after how I treated you. That must have been the denial portion of my crazy spell. Denying that I didn't love her, and denying that I did love you."

He's all serious again, his words are cleaner. That humorless laugh is sharp enough to cut into me. I feel the anger building again, as I shakily begin to rise to my feet. Did he actually say he loved me? Now I know I'm not thinking clearly. Never a good thing.

"Why should you feel badly? We were just friends. Friends come and go."

He's stepped closer. I can feel it moving in on me. I'm going to say something foolish. I'm going to open myself to more pain. I flex the fingers in my now swollen right hand, and feel a searing jolt shoot up my arm. It still doesn't hurt enough.

"I think we were more than that. Or, at least, I thought we were going to be."

He sighs, and I feel it deep inside. He keeps going.

"I guess I screwed that up too. I didn't mean to. I was wrong. I was hurting, and I didn't know how to deal with it."

Oh, he's said the magic words now. I press the stiff knuckles into the cold titanium, and hear the cracking and feel the grating of the broken bones beneath. Going to have to get that fixed later.

But right now, it just doesn't hurt enough.

"You did so much for me. You helped me find myself when I didn't even know I was lost. You made me into the person you called a friend. I wasn't that man before. You gave me everything you had. I just wanted to give something back to you."

God, does my voice really sound that wretched?

"I know that now. I just couldn't accept it then."

I grit my teeth and grunt at the agony I experience as I pound my broken hand into the wall again. Then I round on him, venom in my voice and suffering in my eyes.

It almost hurts enough now. But not quite.

"I only wanted to help you!"

I'm not sure what happened. But I feel his arms around me, and I feel tears on my face again. One of his hands is around my waist, the other over my back and onto my shoulder. I can feel him shaking, and I can hear him whispering something in my ear, over and over.

"God Mal, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

He can't mean that. I don't know what to believe. My head hurts, a pounding right in the front of my skull, in time with my heartbeats. And the damned heart is racing right now.

"I'm sorry. I love you, and I don't want to lose you again."

He took the words right out of my mouth. But does he mean it?

He pulls back, and stares right down into my eyes. What a sight that must be, two teary-eyed senior officers holding a gaze, one with his arms around the other, silent but for the shuddering breaths.

And I see the pain reflected right back at me. The pain he's going through because of the pain I've gone through. The anguish deep inside as he sees what this has done to me, and I see what that has done to him. In that endless moment, I remember what it felt like to be loved. And I wonder why I ever wanted to give that up. Why I would ever think it wasn't worth every second of pain. Why I would ever doubt him.

And at the same time, I know exactly why. I just don't care anymore.

He pulls me close and kisses me for the first time.

It hurts enough now. In fact, it's bloody killing me now.

And somehow, that feels just fine.


End file.
